Lorne’s first kiss had seemed to him, at the time, every bit the romance he could have imagined: wet and passionate and unexpected. Later, as he came to know more of kissing, he saw it for what it was: demanding, messy, and ripe with expectations he hadn’t been ready to fulfill. He had been so quietly flustered and thrilled to hear the other man refer to him as his boyfriend the next day (another first), he hadn’t protested - even though he’d never been asked, and even though part of him was terrified. He’d told Lorne it was good to face his fears, that sooner or later he’d have to get over it, and he was just the man to help him overcome his anxiety and become the man he knew Lorne could be.
Lorne had been so moved by this show of devotion, so inspired, that he didn’t protest when his boyfriend led him into bed. Even if he’d been terrified and his boyfriend ignored the way Lorne shook in his arms, and even if it had been nothing like he imagined it would be. The memory of their first night, his first time, should have been something cherished, but instead, Lorne preferred not to think of it at all. It wasn’t that Lorne had been unwilling. It wasn’t really his boyfriend’s fault. He just hadn’t been ready, and that wasn’t something he realized until there was nothing to be done about it.
The break-up had been sudden, almost as fast as their romance had flared up in the first place: Lorne was too much for him to deal with. He just didn’t have the time or the patience to hold his hand all the time anymore. Lorne couldn’t really blame him. The memories of a future that had been, but now wasn’t, had been so fresh. His anxiety had worsened. He knew, looking back, how he’d pushed his boyfriend away. - but it’d still hurt him deeply when he left so easily after all Lorne had given him. Maybe - no, that was definitely why he’d look at it through rose colored lenses for so long. It was easier to see the good in what they’d had than to consider the alternative.
Then there’d been Nadia - Methone, first - tackling him to the ground beneath her warmth with a “hello handsome”, stirring him up in every possible way, terrifying him - and then turned around and offered him a walk in the park. Held his arm like they were on one of the kinds of dates Lorne used to daydream about as he sat there alone, watching the world move around him, too wrapped up in his own shyness and half-formed words to join them. She had been as sweet and soft as she had sultry, teasing him, but never enough that he didn’t enjoy it. The day of their first kiss, she had given him a flower, held his hand. Her kiss had also been unexpected, but it had been soft and sweet, and he hadn’t been afraid. She told him then what her intentions were, but - she gave him a choice. She asked what he wanted, rather than tell him what he needed.
She never rolled her eyes when he couldn’t say something the right way. She never huffed in irritation when he froze or got flustered about nothing. She looked him in the eyes and said the good things about him she liked rather than the bad things he should change, and still pushed him boundaries in ways he could handle to better himself - the right way.
No, Lorne wasn’t completely without fear. It wasn’t as easy as flipping a switch and turning his anxiety off, as much as he wished he could. But he trusted Nadia as much as he adored her. The time spent alongside her was becoming more and more precious to him, and after - after what had happened that night - to be able to look at Nadia, Methone, to look at that beautiful woman and know he meant enough to her to become a fixture, a boyfriend - he wondered if he really expressed it enough, how happy she made him. Or if she knew that sometimes he looked at her as she slept beside him, trying to commit the details of her face to memory as he covered them both with a blanket, and thinking that maybe, just maybe, he might love her a little.
He was half-asleep when he got her text, but his eyes slid open, locked onto the phone beside his pillow, and felt his heart swell with warmth and pure, unfiltered adoration.
Pixie Nyxie
Text to Nadia: Always. Good night, Nadia.
